The Healing Has Begun
by ICanStopAnytime
Summary: What if Shannon survived her gunshot wound? This A/U piece features Sayid, Shannon, Sun, and Sawyer.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Cleaning up my files and discovering stories I never posted to the fan fic archives. Enjoy!

 **The Healing Has Begun**

Sayid hadn't paused to learn why it had all happened. He was too busy gathering Shannon in his arms, carrying her through the harsh rain to safety and medicine. Jack told him that she didn't have much of a chance. Sayid resented how easily the admission had come, given Jack's history of obsession with saving his patients, and he had made his resentment all too clear. That was when Jack had ordered him to leave, to get some air. Sayid had reluctantly abandoned Shannon to the doctor's ministrations.

Angry though he was, Sayid knew Jack would do his best. But if even the doctor who couldn't stand to lose a patient was doubtful she would live…Sayid neither dared to hope nor to fear. He would not allow himself to desire her survival, and he would not allow himself to envision her death. He did not think at all; he merely stumbled blindly. But when Kate came running through the jungle towards him, he began to anticipate the worst.

The words had barely tripped from Kate's tongue before Sayid was racing back to the hatch. He fell to his knees beside her bunk, and Shannon turned ever so slowly to look at him. There was a smile on her face—a weak one, to be sure, but a smile nonetheless. "I…" she said hoarsely, and for a wishful moment he expected her to say, "I love you, too." But instead she only said, "…I don't feel well" and closed her eyes. Sayid looked up to Jack as though to command, "Do something!"

Jack shook his head and said, "She just needs to sleep." He motioned Sayid to follow him out to the main room.

"She may well recover," the doctor said as Sayid kept his eyes fixed in the direction of the now sleeping woman, "if we can keep her rested for the next two weeks or so. That's a pretty big _if_ , considering our circumstances."

"I will care for her."

"Sun has volunteered to take care of her. She's going to need help dressing, bathing, that kind of thing. You can watch over her, bring her food and water, whatever, but Sun's going to be the one to care for her."

Sayid nodded.

"Now I know you've built her a shelter. That would give her some privacy, some protection from the weather, but I think it's better if she stays in the hatch. She'll be nearer water, nearer the medicine—it's safer. I want her to stay here." Jack looked as though he expected Sayid to argue, but Sayid only nodded.

The next two weeks passed slowly. Sayid did not have the privilege of enjoying much privacy with Shannon, and when they were alone, she was usually too tired to speak. He would sit beside her and hold her pale hand in his own darker one and stroke her light hair, which was often plastered fast against her brow by the sweat of fever. She was fighting an infection.

When she had largely recovered from her injuries, and when the fever had fully left her, she expressed her desire to move back to the tent. Sayid asked Jack his opinion, and while Jack preferred her to remain at the hatch, he did not insist upon it.

It was with some nervousness that Shannon regarded Sayid that first night after her recovery, when he entered her tent and asked, "Do you wish me to stay with you tonight?"

She had not yet acknowledged his confession of love or his promise of fidelity. She was well aware that what she felt for him exceeded anything she had previously felt for a man, and she wanted very much to bind him to her, but in her past life she had too often used sex as a tool to entrap men.

Sex had too long been her crutch, and she wanted to try once again to pursue this relationship without that prop. She needed desperately to prove to herself that she could be strong enough to resist the temptation to substitute physical intimacy for true emotional growth. And the only way she could be certain of that was to remain sexually abstinent, at least until she was sure of herself. But after she had already offered herself to him, how could she explain what she needed now?

"Yes," she replied at last, "I want you to stay with me, but…I mean…can we just sleep beside one another?"

"I was not asking anything of you tonight," Sayid replied and came and sat beside her, gently draping a supportive arm around her. She leaned into him. It was good to feel secure beneath his embrace…secure, and yet not precisely dependent.

"Tonight?" she asked with an arched eyebrow.

He smiled mischievously in response. "I am only glad you have survived, Shannon. I feared…" He looked down abruptly and swallowed.

"Sayid, there's something I need to talk to you about."

"Very well," he said.

"I want to abstain from sex. I don't mean just tonight-I mean for awhile, maybe a long while. I want to take this whole relationship slowly…"

"Is it not a bit too late for that?" His question was stated matter-of-factly, and it betrayed no emotion. His words and tone rarely did—it was his eyes that usually spoke the deeper truth to her, and at the moment, his face was still turned downward.

"I know…I know it may seem strange given what we've already done." She pulled her shoulders into a half-shrug. "But it's important to me not to…" She trailed off and waited for him to respond.

"Shannon, one cannot force the genie back into the bottle."

She was trying to bare her soul, and he was speaking in metaphors. What did he mean? That he was unwilling to turn back? That he wanted only to continue onward from their point of physical intimacy? That nothing else would satisfy him?

She realized he was studying her face, and he must have seen her confusion. "Shannon, I mean it cannot be undone."

"I don't want to undo it! It's just that I…It's just that I…"

"It is just that you regret giving yourself to me." And this time he was not able to mask the emotion in his voice. This time she did not even need to read his features: he was bitter.

"No! No…" She switched positions and sat across from him, reaching out to touch his cheek. "I don't regret it. I loved what we did, and I wanted it…I still want it, but this is something I have to do, for me…for my chance to start over. Do you understand?"

"No," he replied simply. "No, I do not understand."

She dropped her hand from his cheek and looked away in disappointment. So that was it. This was to be like every other relationship she had had…sex or nothing. When he had said that night that he loved her, he had meant about what every other man had meant. It wasn't as if she had never heard those three little words before. She had heard them plenty of times. She had simply been mistaken to think they had somehow meant more just because Sayid had said them.

"I do not understand," he continued, turning her face forcibly back to him, scouring her eyes with his own. "But I do not have to understand your wishes to respect them, Shannon. I will respect them because I respect you."

Sayid was not prepared for her reaction. Her face-which had so often in the past born a defensive mask on indifference-now trembled, and she dissolved into tears.

At first, he did not know how to respond. And then a wave of tenderness overwhelmed him as he realized that this must be the first time she had ever heard a man say, "I respect you." She had been desired, perhaps even loved—Boone had loved her—but all her short life she had longed not merely for love, but for respect.

Despite Sayid's confession of his love, despite his pledge of fidelity, despite his assurance that she was more capable than she knew—she had not really believed, until this moment, that he—that _anyone_ —could truly respect her. She was struggling so hard simply to learn to respect herself. This unexpected desire for abstinence, he now realized, was a part of that struggle.

He kissed away the tears as they cascaded down her cheeks, until he reached her lips, which he claimed gently yet decidedly. She responded to the tender pressure with a passion that took him by surprise, and her passion ignited his own. He kissed her back more deeply, and he had to fight forcefully against himself to keep from rolling her to the ground beneath him. He had never wanted her so badly as now, when it was more imperative than ever that he restrain himself.

Eventually he broke the kiss, uncertain of his own self-control. He moved to sit beside her and pulled her back into his arms. They sat like that, leaning on one another, in silence for some time. Shannon could hear his deep breathing and could sense his desire. She bit her lip and glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, but he looked quickly away.

"I had better not stay with you tonight," he said. "I will honor your wishes, Shannon. But…I am really quite human, you know."

She laughed at this, disentangled herself from his arm, and turned to face him. "You sound surprised to discover it." He smiled to see her twinkling eyes; he loved her sense of humor when it was not that stinging defense mechanism he had first been exposed to. She could have matched Sawyer with that old whip.

He kissed her lightly and said, "I will sleep outside the tent tonight. I will be nearby if you need me, if you grow frightened…"

She laughed again. "I'm not a damsel in distress, Sayid." But then her smile grew appreciative. She couldn't help but feel a kind of warm affection for his protectiveness. It was pleasant to be able to rely on someone without having to manipulate him. It was encouraging to have someone look after her because he loved her and not, as Boone had done, because he distrusted her abilities. "I'll let you know if I need you."

He reached out and squeezed her hand. She squeezed back and said, so quietly that he almost did not hear her, "I love you, Sayid."

But he did hear her. At first he was inclined to respond, "I know." She had shown that to him in lots of subtle ways, but most noticeably in the way that she had struggled to prove herself to him, to make herself a better woman for him. But he did not say, "I know." Instead he said, "Thank you," and then he slipped soundlessly from the tent.


	2. Chapter 2

**[*]**

Sayid had once had only hopes, not expectations. But after weeks upon weeks of difficult celibacy, he had let the hopes fall by the wayside as well, and he had resigned himself to merely enjoying Shannon's company, along with a myriad of kisses and caresses and the occasional night of sleeping by her side. The last he kept to a minimum and only allowed when she truly needed the safe assurance of his presence by her side; it was too acute a torture for him to feel her body pressed warmly against his own and yet to know he could not possess it. Otherwise, he slept nearby outside her tent, determined to protect her. He still cursed himself for allowing her injury in the first place, a wound which had nearly taken her from him…he was a soldier; surely he should have sensed the impending threat and destroyed it before it could harm her.

No, he had neither hopes nor expectations, and so when she greeted him that morning as he chopped wood and told him she had a present for him in the tent, which he should come to claim that evening, it did not even occur to him that the present might be herself. Instead he looked bemused and left his ax lodged in the wood. "A present? Whatever for?"

"Our anniversary," she replied, and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

The words startled him, and he looked at her with such an unusual expression of fright that she smiled. Her smile still enraptured him…not that snide, half smirk he had seen all too often in the early days, but that genuine expression of delight that revealed the other Shannon, the one who had been buried by the circumstances of life and who was now emerging and growing stronger every day.

"Have I scared you?" she asked.

"Of course not," he said, regaining his composure. Pain and deprivation and hardship and physical contest he could endure…but he had not known it was their anniversary, and he did not wish to endure her displeasure for having forgotten that which he did not even know existed. But her smile reassured him, and so he brought himself to ask, tentatively, "Anniversary of…what, exactly?"

"The day we first kissed," she said. "When you took me on the picnic."

"But that was not our first kiss," he corrected her, and then he wished he hadn't. A man ought not to correct a woman who is defining and marking special days upon the calendar. He ought to appease her and hope for the best.

There was the snide smile...it was alright to see it; it did not mean the old Shannon was emerging, for now the smirk was usually followed by an affable kind of sarcasm, which was not meant to wound. "Fine then," she said. "The anniversary of our first date."

Not sure he should say any more, but unable to prevent himself, he suggested, "Shannon, we have not been on this island a year."

She crossed her arms and looked at him with feigned irritation. "I'm aware of that. It's our four month anniversary. Anyway, I have a present for you, and after you light the signal fire tonight, please come to the tent and get it."

With that she turned on her heels and strutted away. He did not think she was angry, but he thought she might be if he did not come up with a gift of his own. He watched her as she retreated down the beach and admired the curve of her legs, which had, with much effort on her part, at long last developed a golden tan.

What on earth was he going to give her? A new suitcase had been discovered in the jungle recently, blown free of the wreckage, but it had already been picked over by Jack and Sawyer.

Sawyer.

Sayid sighed and made his way to the man, who was sitting and reading. It seemed Sawyer had developed a voracious appetite for reading. He knew Sawyer had recently expanded his stash, and surely he ought to have something.

"What can I do you for?" the Southerner asked.

Sayid eyed him levelly. He was not looking forward to this request, and he wished to dispense quickly with Sawyer's mockery, which he accepted as inevitable. He spoke directly: "I need a gift for Shannon."

"Well, well."

"What do you have, Sawyer?" he asked curtly.

"Hey, I'm happy to oblige. I'm just glad someone on the island's getting some."

"Do not be crass." He didn't say he wasn't exactly getting some. "What do you have?"

"There isn't much. No fancy shoes or clothes or nothing. No alcohol. But I got a book that might make a nice romantic gesture."

"A book?" Shannon was not much of a reader, although he had seen her with a book occasionally as she lay tanning herself in the sun. She had also been doing those inane word finds in the hatch when they were on shift at the computer. He could have conceived of a thousand more pleasant ways to pass the time, but she seemed to like them. Yet a word find book was _not_ a particularly romantic gesture.

Sawyer tossed him a little hardback volume. The dustcover was mildewed from water, but otherwise, it was in good condition.

" _The Love Sonnets of Shakespeare_ ," announced Sawyer. "For a girl, there's nothing like a man reading her a little poetry after a night of passion." He smirked.

Sayid let the comment pass. He took the book and began to walk away.

Sawyer made a chiding sound that forced the Iraqi to turn back. "I ain't running a Salvation Army, Mohammed. Let's work out the exchange rate, why don't we?"

"What do you want?"

"Whatcha got?"

Sayid gritted his teeth. "I will work your next two shifts in the hatch."

Sawyer laughed loudly. "What kind of offer is that? The hatch's got a hot shower, food, books, a record player-"

"What do I have that you want?"

Sawyer licked his lips. He looked like a used car salesman after the contract was already signed. "Your gun."

"Absolutely not," Sayid answered.

Sawyer rose and grabbed the book from the Iraqi's hand before plopping himself back down under the shade of his shelter. "My mistake. I thought you really needed something. Usually when a man comes looking for a gift…he's in trouble."

Sayid turned his eyes away. He closed them and sighed. He wasn't in trouble, but he feared he might be if he showed up empty handed tonight. But he would rather bear her disappointment than leave her unguarded; he wasn't going to risk losing her again. "I cannot give you the gun," he said. "I would appreciate the book."

"Canya say pretty please?"

Sayid rolled his eyes upwards and forced the words tightly from his mouth. "Pretty. Please."

"With a cherry on top?"

"What?"

"You have to say pretty please with a cherry on top."

"On top of what?" Sayid asked. "And I have no cherries."

It took a moment for Sawyer to recover from his guffaw. "Well you already got your cherry." He laughed with an open mouth and protruding tongue. "No, not really," he continued. "'Cause she sure as hell wasn't no cherry."

Sayid shook his head in exasperated confusion.

"Awww…take the damn book," Sawyer said, flinging the volume at the Iraqi's chest. It hit him with a slap and fell into his awaiting hands.

"Thank you," he replied guardedly. Shannon would like it, he thought. He only hoped it would be enough to commemorate the "anniversary" she had invented.

 _And what is she going to be giving me?_ Sayid wondered as he went on to light the signal fire before making his way to Shannon's tent.

Sawyer had not been the only one to pick over the newly discovered luggage. Shannon had found and claimed something of her own as well. When Sayid entered the tent, he saw just what she had discovered in that suitcase, and the _Love Sonnets of Shakespeare_ dropped from his hand and landed with a thud on the sandy floor.

 **[*]**

Sayid did not need to wonder any longer what his anniversary gift might be. Shannon lay on the tent floor, propped up on her elbows, wearing a black negligee, which consisted of a largely sheer fabric that stretched tautly across her body. His eyes raked over her, and she saw them darken.

Here stood a man who had endured the threat of death numerous times without so much as flinching. Here stood a practiced stoic who could place an instant tourniquet on his emotions and an impenetrable mask upon his face when action was required. And yet at the present moment, he could not seem to remain standing.

When he felt his knees hit the floor, he closed his eyes and shook his head as though attempting to awaken himself. He had not expected to find her awaiting him thus; he had not dared to hope for it. Her willing posture had taken him by surprise; but that fact alone could not explain his sudden weakness. His present feelings were quite foreign to him.

The first time they had made love, those many months ago, he had been fully in control of himself: ardent in his caresses, yet calm in his soul; heated in his passion, yet collected in his mind. He had more or less taken charge of the interaction, and like a dancer she had followed his lead. He had melded with her as if he were a confident and experienced sultan.

Yet now he found himself trembling with expectation. He crawled toward her until his body hovered just above hers. Shannon wondered how she had been able to resist temptation so long, but she was glad that she had; she was now more confident in herself, and, most importantly, she could be certain that what she gave him tonight would be a true and loving gift rather than some tool of manipulation.

"Does this mean you are ready?" he asked. His voice was low, deep, and strained.

"Certainly not," she replied. "I dress like this for all the men I'm stranded on deserted islands with."

"I have been meaning to talk to you about that," he said as his lips claimed hers. He was hardly aware of what he did next. He lost himself completely in their union and gave himself over to his passion. Afterwards, when he gathered her to him possessively and nestled her against his still burning flesh, she could feel his body shudder as if racked with a chill, and she asked, "What's wrong? Why are you trembling?"

"It is nothing," he said. "It is just what you do to me."

Except it wasn't what she had done to him before. After that first time, he had merely smiled and lain back in complete possession of his faculties. Now, however, he required a few moments to recover. When his passions had reached an even keel, he kissed her gently on the shoulder and said, "I did not know I loved you the first time we…I did not know then. I did not know until I found you in the rain. The first time, I wanted you only because you were desirable."

She was not sure how to react to this confession. It was not exactly flattering, but nor was it anything other than what she had expected. She certainly had not known she loved him then either. In fact, she could not be sure that she had consented to his advance for any reason other than pleasure and perhaps even…yes, perhaps even profit. She had still been playing games, even then, even after the seeds of love had already been planted.

"I love you now," he concluded, and kissed her shoulder again.

She did not echo the words back to him. She did not know why she had told him only once that she loved him. She had grown so much these past few months, and she had gained so much self-confidence, yet she still hesitated to make too clear her emotions: such confessions left her feeling vulnerable. The silence, however, was awkward, and she strove to think of some other way to break it.

"I know you love me, too," he said at last.

She did not concur, but her silence was assent enough.

He trailed one hand lazily across her hip. "Thank you for my gift. The wrapping was quite attractive, and the contents even more so."

She was relieved by this levity, and she turned to embrace him face on. She laughed lightly as she received his kiss. This time, their lovemaking was more playful, and Sayid felt relieved to be once again the master of his senses…for the most part.

Shannon fell asleep with her head on his chest, and she awoke before he did. She dressed and prepared to leave the tent to get some water, but she first compulsively gathered his scattered clothes and prepared to fold his pants. As she did so, she spied a photograph protruding from his pocket. Curiously, she pulled out the paper and stared at the face of a beautiful and modest woman…wholly unlike Shannon herself. She glanced at the sleeping Iraqi, and then returned her gaze to the picture. It had been well worn; no doubt, she thought, by constant handling. How often, she wondered, had he stared at this strong and beautiful face of a woman who, unlike her, appeared unspoiled and pure?

She saw him stir and hastily slipped the photo back into his pocket. The pants were folded and on the tent floor before his eyes fluttered open. "Good morning," he said, rising to prop himself up and smiling at her. "Come, give me a kiss."

She replied curtly, "I'm going for water," and then she stood violently and hastened from the tent.


	3. Chapter 3

**[*]**

Shannon made her way to Sun's garden. She did not know if Sayid had followed her. She had moved quickly; if he had followed, she hoped to lose him. Sun greeted her when she arrived and instantly perceived that something was wrong.

"Shannon—"

"Let's get to work," Shannon said and immediately started picking and sorting herbs. She had been making herself useful for weeks now in Sun's garden; she was a quick learner. She had picked up a myriad of skills from her past boyfriends, and that was without trying. But when she actually concentrated on learning, as she had done now for the first time since studying dance, she excelled. She had become an indispensable aid to Sun.

Sun did not probe her further. She worked silently beside Shannon, until Sayid appeared. Sun looked hesitantly from one face to the other. Shannon had refused to raise hers. "I need to get some more water," Sun said hastily, and before Shannon could protest, she had hurried off.

Shannon continued to ignore Sayid, and she plunged her once immaculately manicured hands into the crumbly earth, surprisingly undisturbed by the dirt that now caked them.

"Shannon, have I done something to offend you?"

She did not answer him.

"Whatever it is, I cannot make it right if you do not tell me."

"I'm busy," she said, pulling up another herb and placing it in the sun to dry.

He kneeled down beside her and forced her to look at him, but he could not capture her eyes for long. She turned away.

"You are acting like a petulant child," he said, and rose with irritation, walking abruptly away.

She threw a clod of earth to the ground and stood, angrily brushing the dirt from her hands. She turned and watched him retreat with livid footsteps toward the caves. His words at first infuriated her; she wanted to scream, "I am not a child! I am not helpless! Look at everything I've accomplished since we've been here!" But then she checked herself, and she did the most adult thing she had ever done…she admitted to herself that she _was_ acting like a child. "Sayid!" she called after him.

He stopped and faced her. He didn't say anything; he just waited as she walked to him.

"We need to talk," she said as she approached him.

"Apparently."

She motioned to the grass beneath the shade of the tree. He nodded, and they sat down beside one another.

"Who is she?" Shannon asked, and to her own surprise, her tone held neither anger nor accusation. It was level, and her question was as direct as it could be. She was finished playing games with men. She had started over, and starting over meant discarding past ways.

"Who is who?" he replied.

"The woman whose photograph you keep in your pocket."

"Ahh…" Sayid lowered his head. This could get ugly. Shannon had grown; she had impressed him with her growth, but she still needed regular assurance. It had been hard enough to convince her that he both respected and loved her…this could topple the confidence he had worked so hard to build.

He could lie, he thought, and say simply, "She is my sister." Shannon would not be hurt; there would be no need for further argument, and…and their relationship would be cemented with a lie.

He began to speak. He was pleased to see that she listened quietly. She did not interrupt him or stare at him in angry allegation. She merely heard him out.

"She is…she is someone I used to care for, very much. I was, you know, in the Republican Guard, and she was with the resistance. We had known each other as children, and she had loved me, as children love. When we met, it was under the worst of circumstances. I was given the task of torturing the truth from her."

Shannon gasped. She knew, abstractly, what he had been…but she had never thought much about what he had done. "Did you?"

"No. No. She…she changed me. She made me realize that what I had become was not…I helped her to escape. She gave me the photograph before she fled. I searched for her for years, but I never found her. I…" Perhaps he should not tell her this part. But he did. If they could not go on after this, so be it. Better to have it out. "…I was on my way to L.A. to find her when the plane crashed."

"Do you love her, Sayid?"

"I did once."

Shannon spoke quietly. "Love is not love which alters when it alteration finds, or bends with the remover to remove."

He turned toward her with surprise. "Shakespeare's sonnets?"

"I woke up last night. I couldn't sleep. So I read the book you gave me. I read that one a lot of times…"

"On one level I agree with that line. On another, I do not." He shook his head. "Love is a fire, and like any fire, it needs fuel. If you do not feed it, eventually, it will smolder to ash. But just because the fire fades does not mean it was not once real and vibrant, leaping with beautiful flames. But fires do fade, Shannon, if you do not feed them. I stopped feeding that fire for Nadia after you kissed me. It was already waning, and when I withheld the fuel altogether…"

"And our fire? Will you stop feeding it too?"

He grasped her shoulders. He made her look into his eyes, so that she might see his sincerity. "Never," he said.

She could see he meant what he said, but to mean a thing is not always to do it. She lowered her eyes. "Is that what you told Nadia?"

He let his hands slide from her shoulders and sighed. "I never promised Nadia anything, Shannon. I did not vow fidelity to her; I did not promise I would never leave her. And she never promised me anything either. If I had found her in L.A., perhaps I would have found her with a brood of happy children and a loving husband."

He ventured now to take her hand into his own, and she did not resist. "I did not say those things to her, but I have said those things to you, Shannon. I have promised not to leave you. And I will honor that promise. Do not think that because I believe love must be fueled my love is weak or that I will let it die. Real love is not some emotion that makes you giddy forever. Little girls believe that. Romantic poets believe that. But love is essentially an action. And if you stop acting, the feeling will fade."

She did not respond. He had never been so gregarious; his speech was usually marked by brevity. But he wished to make her grasp his intentions. "When I say I love you," he continued, "I do not mean I feel this or that…though I certainly have intense feelings for you. What I mean is that I have chosen a particular path. What I mean is that whatever befalls us, whatever hardships, whatever arguments, whatever quarrels…I will work constantly to keep that fire alive. Passions rise and fall. Feelings ebb and flow. Ours will. Ours must. We will have exquisite heights and frustrating depths. But my love-the way I act towards you-my love will not falter."

He dared not look towards her. He feared what he might discover upon her countenance. What if, instead of understanding, he found an insurmountable jealousy printed there? He felt the tender pressure of her hand as she squeezed his, and he could not help but turn. He saw no jealousy, but he saw tears.

"Shannon…"

She lifted a finger to his lips to silence him. He kissed it, and for a moment she could not speak. Then, slowly, she said, "I have to ask this one last question, Sayid, and then I'll let this go." She took away her finger.

"What is it?"

"If it's true that you have let your feelings for Nadia fade, if it's true you have no intention of fanning that fire, then why do you still carry her picture after all this time?"

Sayid let loose a heavy sigh. Could she believe his answer? "Because," he said, "it reminds me of what I once was and it warns me of what I could become again. It keeps me bent on reformation."

It was with great effort that he lifted his head and dragged his eyes towards hers. There were more tears now, silent tears, and he could not tell if they were tears of pain or of joy. "Shannon…" He pulled the tattered photo from his pocket now and handed it to her. She took it and looked down at the courageous, attractive face. "It is yours," he said. "Do with it as you will. Tear it up. Consign it to the signal fire. Whatever you want, Shannon."

She turned it over and handed it back to him. "Keep it," she said quietly.

Hesitantly, he took the photo from her. "Why?"

"I like who you are now," she said. "If it helps you to remain that way…"

He folded the photo and shoved it back into his pocket. "Shannon, thank you for hearing me, for not looking to find fault."

She took his hand and drew it into her lap. "I've looked for fault too often. I wish…I wish you'd told me what 'I love you' meant sooner." And now her tears were no longer silent; she let them fall with great sobs. He gathered her to him, lifting her to sit her in his lap and holding her fast to his chest, whispering her name with great tenderness. He did not know what to say, and so he kissed her, softly yet deeply.

"Sayid…" she whispered against his ear and through her tears, "I love you, Sayid. I'm sorry I have not said it enough. I love you."

"I know," he whispered throatily, and drew her still closer. "I know."

 **[*]**

It is strange how fickle the human spirit is. Shannon had demonstrated real maturity when she discovered Sayid's past love for Nadia; she had mastered her inclination to play games, to manipulate, and to pick fights. Yet, just weeks after their conversation near the garden, Sayid managed to lodge his foot securely in his mouth, and Shannon once again blew up at him and stormed out of the tent.

He lit her fuse in a quite unexpected way.

Locke had slain a boar that day, the first in months, and all had enjoyed the feast. When they had returned to their tent, and she had reclined against him, she said, almost in passing, "I thought it was against your religion to eat pork."

"It is."

"Doesn't a boar qualify?"

"Yes. But the law makes exceptions for extreme hardship." He let one hand trail down to her hip. "It is also against my religion to engage in premarital sex."

"It is?"

"Of course it is. Strictly forbidden."

She smiled tentatively. "And are there hardship exceptions for that?"

He laughed. "It would require a very liberal interpretation of the text. But perhaps you have gathered that I am not very devout..."

"I've heard you pray aloud to Allah, Sayid."

"And you have also heard that there are no atheists in fox holes."

"You're an atheist?"

"No, that is not what I mean. I believe in Allah, even if I do not always obey Him. And I believe there is such as thing as sin. I know it is not fashionable to believe it, but I do. And like all who knowingly sin against God—I secretly hope my pleasure will outweigh His displeasure."

She looked at him in disbelief.

"Fortunately, since we have been on this island, I have erred but once with regard to fornication."

"Once? Are you forgetting last night? And the night before? And the week before that?"

He smiled at the memory of those dalliances. They would perhaps have been even more frequent, but Shannon was tracking her cycle and avoiding sex on her fertile days. She was not enamored of the idea of getting pregnant on this horrid island, and Sayid certainly could not blame her.

"Need I go on?" she asked.

"That was no sin," he said. "All that was after I already considered us to be married. Only the first time…only that was a true surrendering to temptation."

"What?" She sat bolt upright and moved across from him. She looked at him in shock. "What?"

He raised his eyebrows in response as thought to say he did not understand her question.

"You think of us as married?"

"Shannon, what did you think I meant when I said I would never leave you? I know we have not officially wed, but we are stranded on an island. We cannot exactly stand on ceremony."

"What?" It seemed to be all she could say. "What!? _What?_ " she repeated, until at last she had formed her protest into speech. "If you want to marry a girl, Sayid, it's customary to ask her. You don't just assume it."  
He smiled bemusedly. "You are fiery tonight." He reached out for her.

She shoved his hand away. "I'm angry!" she shouted, in case it wasn't clear—and apparently it wasn't. At least now his smile had faded. "How dare you! How dare you just consider me to be your wife without so much as asking me!"

And that was when she stormed violently from the tent. This time, he did not have to pause to dress himself, and he was after her in an instant. He hurried past the shelters of others…the beach camp had drawn in close together, and all had built up their singular homes near one another, circling the wagons so to speak. He grabbed hold of her arm just outside of Sawyer's place. "Let go of me!" she screamed, loud enough to be heard two tents down, and Sawyer poked his head out to witness the spectacle.

"Shannon, be reasonable. Where are you going?"

"I'm going for a walk." She shook his hand off. "Don't follow me."

"Not alone, you are not," he insisted as he grabbed hold of her arm again.

She began slapping his arm and ordering him to let go, but he would not relent his grasp. "Shannon, I will not allow you to put yourself at risk by walking alone at night on this island. Please calm down."

"Let me go _now_ ," she yelled viciously, but as she struggled against him, his grasp tightened.

That was when Sawyer broke his grip. "The lady said she wanted you to let go," he said. Before Sayid realized what had happened, Shannon had run off.

"Sawyer! Stay out of this. It does not concern you."

"Hey, Mohammad, I'm no knight in shining armor, as you well know, but when a woman's screaming let go, let go…and you ain't letting her go…"

"You prejudiced bastard," Sayid spit back at him. "You have some image of me as a hotheaded Arab savage who beats women and drags them to his harem."

"Now, now, Sayid," Sawyer chided him, "why would I think you were hotheaded? After all, look how calm you're acting now."

Sayid clenched his fists and released them. "I am perhaps slightly aggravated at the moment. But it is not safe for anyone to be alone at night."

"Look, Sayid, you're just going to piss her off more if you go after her now. You better let her cool down, 'cause I sure as hell don't want to listen to you two fighting all night. Some of us would like to get some sleep. You want me to follow her and keep an eye on her?"

It was a strange offer, coming from Sawyer. But Sayid was pretty sure that if he himself followed Shannon now, she would just run deeper into the dangerous darkness. Sawyer certainly would not have been his first choice of protector. But the Southerner, for all of his conniving, prejudice, and sarcasm, would not wish to see one of his own harmed. And, for better or worse, the survivors were a family.

Sayid nodded. "Please make sure she does not go too far…that she does not get hurt."

Sawyer nodded and tucked his gun into his belt. He caught up to her where she was sitting, just inside the jungle, slapping a tree with her open palm.

"Now what's that poor tree done to you?" Sawyer drawled.

Startled to be caught venting her rage, she whirled around. "What do you want?"

"Your boyfriend asked me to keep an eye on you."

"Did he now? I suppose he likes to ensure his possessions."

"Whooo wee, girl. You're something torrid. What did he do to you?"

She folded her arms across herself and looked at Sawyer with disdain. But she answered his question. It felt good to tell someone what was making her furious. "He said he considers us to be married."

Sawyer bit his lip into a wry smile and shook his head. "Damn that Muhammad, acting all committed and responsible after you been playing house with him for months."

Her arms dropped to her side and her mouth dropped open. "You're on _his_ side? He didn't even _ask_ me, Sawyer. He just assumed it."

"I'm not on anyone's side, princess. I just want a good night's sleep, and I ain't gonna get it as long as you two are going at it. So why don't you be a good little girl and go kiss and make up?"

"Screw you, Sawyer," she said, and sat down in exhausted frustration.

He sat himself beside her. Suddenly, all of the sarcasm was drained from his tone. "Look, Shannon, that man loves you. Yeah he's an arrogant prick, but it's pretty damn clear to everyone on this island that he loves you. Now we're stranded in the middle of a monster-riddled, man-slaying craphole, and there ain't much that makes living here worthwhile. But at least you _got_ someone. Maybe you better consider that and be grateful. Maybe you ought to try to make it work."

 _Make it work._ She thought of Sayid's view of love, about his vow to always work to keep the fires flaming. She was mad at him, but she was also a little ashamed of herself.

Sawyer had pulled out a cigarette and was smoking it. "Where'd you get that?" she asked. His supply had been depleted long ago.

"I've been saving it," said Sawyer, "so that I could smoke it and look coolly indifferent after doing something totally out of character…like trying to help some muddled girl for no material reason, or being nice to some guy who once shoved blades under my fingernails. Why, you want a puff?"

He extended her the cigarette. He hadn't expected her to take it. She took one drag and began coughing. "God, Sawyer, that's awful."

"Homemade," he said. "Got some herb in it Sun told me was the closest thing."

"So not one you were saving after all."

"Nah, but it looks like the real thing, don't it?"

She only shrugged. "I'm going back to talk to Sayid," she said. "I don't need an escort. And I'll try to keep the yelling down. Wouldn't want to interrupt your beauty rest." She flashed her snide smile.

"Now that's what I want to hear." Sawyer smirked again. They looked like twins, resting there, defiant sneers plastered on their faces. He stood, crushed his cigarette under his heel, and looked disinterested, but he followed her back watchfully at a distance, and he waited until he saw her slip into her tent after Sayid before he returned to sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

**[*]**

When Shannon burst into the tent, Sayid was sitting and whittling away furiously at a piece of wood. She had no idea what he might be carving; indeed, he did not appear to be carving anything useful, and the light was far too dim for him to really see what he was doing. He was probably just trying to busy himself while he waited for her to cool down. He looked worried and irritated all at once.

"I want a divorce," she announced.

The blade of the knife stopped halfway down the wooden object. Sayid looked up slowly. She was laughing. Silently, but she was laughing. Soon enough, he was laughing too.

Her smile faded and her eyes darkened. "I'm still angry at you, you know."

"Sit down, Shannon, please." She did. He put down the wood and the knife and said, "It was wrong of me to presume…that is…well, Shannon, to me, as far as I am concerned, I am committed to you for life, and that is really no different than marriage. But I know you do not see it that way. And I know you have not been regarding me as a husband. I have meant to do the customary thing, but in our situation, I cannot conceive of how to do it properly."

She looked at him in stony silence.

"Will you marry me?"

"Not unless you come up with a better way to propose than that," she said.

"Very well. Then can we at least call a truce and go back to the way things were?"

"Sayid!"

"What can I do, Shannon? What would you have me do? Whatever you want me to say, I will say it."

"It doesn't work that way."

"How does it work? Tell me."

"Damnit, Sayid." She stood up and began to walk away.

He followed and embraced her from behind, drawing her back against him. He spoke softly into her ear. "Do not walk out on me, Shannon. Please give me time, and I will make things right."

She wanted to resist, to draw out the argument longer…not because she wouldn't eventually end it-she had every intention of reconciling—but because she wasn't quite ready to lay down her gloves. She wanted to make a point. But was that really necessary? Probably not, and what was more, he was now kissing that spot on her neck, that particular spot, the one that made it very difficult for her to breathe…

"Shannon…" His breath was hot against her neck, her ear, "Shannon, I beg you…"

She turned and let herself be swept into his embrace, into his deepening kiss. She was an experienced woman, and sex had once been something of a game to her: she had often thought of attaining some goal, that is, of extracting something from her lover once she had ensnared him with her flesh. But there was no goal with Sayid, no prize to be wrested from him, there was only the heat of his embrace, the strong feel of his body against hers, the excitement of his touch, and at last the pleasure of yielding herself to him.

Here—only here in the tent her lover had built for her with his own hands—was pleasure to be found _not_ in victory, but in surrender.

A week passed, and Sayid had mentioned nothing of marriage. Shannon began to wonder if he had finally asked himself, "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"

But then she thought, _How would things change if we did officially marry?_ He could not treat her with anymore tenderness, any more passion, or any more loyalty. He already slept by her side every night, sought to protect her, and strove to build for her their own little paradise in the midst of a weary and frightening world. He _had_ been a husband to her. How could she not have seen that?

 _I'll tell him tonight_ , she thought, _that I, too, consider us married_. But he did not give her the chance. Instead he walked by her on the beach and commanded, "Follow me," drawing a few steps ahead of her.

"Where are we going?" she asked with excitement, recalling the last time he had led her to a surprise.

"You will see."

Soon, she recognized the path, and they found themselves on that same stretch of beach where they had once picnicked together, where she had told him that she did not want to go back. The same canvas had been spread, decorated more beautifully this time: no fruit, but there were flowers scattered everywhere, and in the midst of the blanket rested a graceful wooden chest.

"Where did you…what is it?" she asked.

"It is…what do you call it? A hope chest. I built it for you. Look inside."

Eagerly she walked to the blanket and kneeled before the chest. He came and stood across from her and watched her reaction. She lifted the lid slowly, and just as slowly she reached inside and pulled out its contents.

"I do not know how Rose did it," he said, sounding very much unlike himself, talking not in calm and measured tones, but quickly, nervously. "But she did…she used to make all of her nieces' clothes. She used three different dresses, and I brought her one of yours as a model. I hope it fits."

She took the gorgeous dress into her hands and spread it over her arms; she saw it trail beautifully across the blanket. Although it was multicolored, and not white, it looked very much like a …

"I thought," he said, very quietly, "I thought you could wear it when you marry me. That is, _if_ you wish to marry me." And that was when he fell to one knee before her. "This is how they do it where you are from, yes?" he asked.

She could only smile in response.

He took the dress from her and placed it back into the chest. He then took both of her hands into his own. "Shannon, I have no speech, but I have a hope. Will you marry me?"

 **[*]**

The old Shannon had manufactured tears often enough when she thought she could gain something by them. But now natural, quiet, unpretentious tears of joy fell lavishly down her cheeks, and she leaned in and kissed him gratefully.

She pulled away and asked, "How…how will we do it?"

"So that is a yes?"

"Oh, yes," she said, laughing as she realized she had not actually answered him.

"Well, if tomorrow evening is not too soon…"

"It's not," she said quickly.

"Jack has called our monthly meeting. I thought we could announce it then to everyone present and ask them to be witness to our vows. I have already asked Charlie if he would perform the ceremony. He was a regular altar boy and he knows the litany. I thought you would want something traditional, and the form does not matter to me. You can discuss it with him tomorrow morning."

"So am I the last to know about our wedding?" she asked, glancing at the dress Rose had made at Sayid's request.

"Only Rose and Charlie know. And Claire. Charlie couldn't keep from telling her. Oh, and yes, Sawyer."

"Sawyer?"

"Where else could I get this?" he asked, and pulled out a simple yet elegant ring. It sparkled in the flame of the torches with which he had lined the blanket.

Her first reaction was pleasure, but then she involuntarily shuddered. Was he giving her some dead woman's engagement ring?

He saw the disgust begin to creep into her eyes, and he said hastily, "No, I have made it, Shannon. See, the ring itself is wood—wood I carved. Only the stones are borrowed…only the stones, and they came from a pair of Sawyer's own cufflinks."

"Sawyer's?"

"Apparently his…profession occasionally required him to dress quite well."

"And he gave them to you?"

"What use has he for diamonds on an island?"

"What did he demand in return?"

"An IOU. If ever we get off this island, I will be in debt to him for some years."

Shannon smiled and held out her hand to receive the ring. She could not believe he had managed to carve such a perfect circle. It was thicker than an engagement band would normally be, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

"Sun will be my maid of honor," Shannon said. "And who will be your best man?"

"My best man?"

"Yes. You have to have someone stand up with you, hold the rings…well, if there are rings. At least stand up with you."

"And make sure I go through with it?" He smiled broadly.

"It's tradition, Sayid."

"If it pleases you, I will find a best man." He spoke with confidence, but he did not really have a friend on the island. He had always gotten along well enough with most of the men—excepting Sawyer, of course—but he had never been particularly close to any of them. He couldn't imagine whom he should ask.

"Who?" she asked.

"Do not worry," he said casually. "I will have someone by tomorrow evening. You just show up in that dress."

When Shannon told Sun about their plans to wed and asked her to stand with her, Sun embraced her happily. And then she did something that shocked Shannon. She took her own wedding ring from her finger and placed it in Shannon's unwilling palm. She closed Shannon's fingers over it. "Jin will give Sayid his," she said.

"No, no, Sun, we could not possibly-"

"You can, and you will. Jin and I no longer need this reminder. But you are to be newlyweds…you deserve some symbol of your happiness on this island, Shannon. Please, please take it."

She protested, but Sun at last convinced her to accept the gift.

When the time for the evening meeting arrived, Sayid had misplaced his shoe.

"Hurry up!" Shannon demanded grouchily. Their plan had been to show up prepared to wed, announce their intentions, and ask the group to serve as witnesses. The wedding could then be performed on the spot. After all, Charlie and Sun were already prepared to play their parts. But it would be very awkward if she showed up in a fancy dress after the meeting had already started and if she had to wait for a pause in the proceedings before Sayid could announce their intentions. "We're going to be late."

"I know it is here somewhere," he said.

"Where'd you get the coat?" she asked. It didn't exactly match his shirt, but it was more formal than anything else he'd ever worn on the island, and he looked rather handsome in it.

"Sawyer," he said. "This is the suit he wore with those cufflinks…well, the coat, anyway. The shirt was ruined; the pants did not fit. Ah…here it is."

He put on his missing shoe and they hurried toward the meeting. Shannon thought he was rather under eager as he seemed to be dragging his feet the entire way.

However, she soon discovered the reason for his delay. When they walked up to the group, they were met with applause. Shannon was startled, but Sayid seemed nonplussed. That was when she realized that all of the people were standing in two groups, parted from one another, forming a human aisle. Torches had been erected along both sides to light the way. Flower petals were strewn across the sandy aisle, and Charlie stood at the front of the parted group, his guitar strapped around his neck.

"Sayid," Charlie said and used his head to gesture the groom forward. Sayid came and stood at the front of the human aisle, and Shannon felt Sun draw up next to her.

"When Charlie starts playing, you start walking," Sun said, and then the strains of "Here Comes the Bride" began to flow from Charlie's guitar.

Shannon, giddy with excitement and still whirling from the surprise, began to walk down the aisle. It was then that she saw Sayid's best man standing behind him.

" _Sawyer?"_ she mouthed silently.

She shot Sayid a questioning glance, and he shrugged his shoulders in reply. She then caught Sawyer's eye, and he gave her a little wink, half-lecherous, half-affectionate. But then he smiled—not that wise, sarcastic smile, but the only genuine smile she had ever seen him flash-and she thought he looked almost like a gentleman. Almost. He was wearing the suit pants that didn't fit Sayid, along with a white T-shirt. It would do.

When their vows had been exchanged, and they had slipped their borrowed rings upon one another's fingers, Charlie announced that Sayid could kiss his bride. When their lips parted, so did their witnesses, to reveal on either side behind them an array of food gathered from the island. And so the reception began.

The happy pair mingled and received congratulations, but soon Shannon had slipped over to find Charlie. Sayid heard her whisper, "Can you play that old tune…" but then he did not hear her again until she had begun to sing.

He stood mesmerized by her voice, moved by its quiet depths. The words to her song—which were about finding love in the midst of violence, an oasis in the midst of a desert, and contentment in a world of unrest—stirred him still more.

When she had finished and had retreated some distance from the crowd, he approached her and kissed her lightly on her exposed shoulder. "Your singing, Shannon…it is so very…you should sing for me more often."

"I will," she said and kissed his cheek.

"I have never heard that song. What was it?"

"The tune is an old British folk song. But the words…" She looked away almost sheepishly. "I wrote the words."

"You did?"

She nodded. "You think them silly."

"No, no, not at all. Far from it. I was moved."

"You were?"

"I was," he said, and he claimed her lips.

His kiss deepened suggestively and she drew slightly away from him. "Sayid, we're still in public."

He glanced at the party, who were enjoying one of those rare happy times on the island. "No one will notice," he said, "if we slip away now."

"Do you want to?"

He took her hand and kissed it, and then tugged at it gently until he had pulled her into his open arms. He trailed kisses down her neck to her shoulder, and then back up to her ear, where he whispered, "Come with me, Shannon. I want to make love to my wife."

Hand in hand, they slipped away under the cover of darkness, determined to create their own light.

 **The End**


End file.
